


'Cause Tramps Like Us, Baby We Were Born to Run

by cablesscutie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Returns, M/M, Rimming, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Spit As Lube, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Top Bucky Barnes, all explicit tags for chapter 4 only, happy tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:50:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4568583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cablesscutie/pseuds/cablesscutie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Steve wants is for Bucky to come home.  Bucky needs time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. UTRECHT, NETHERLANDS

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovely-little-machines (dragon_1986_citys_lights)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lovely-little-machines+%28dragon_1986_citys_lights%29).



> Birthday gift for my best friend, the absolute sweetheart, lovely-little-machines. Happy birthday, wifu!  
> (Title from the Bruce Springsteen classic, "Born to Run")

“Don’t suppose this is your way of suggesting we blow off some steam, is it?” Sam asked when he found the tickets to Amsterdam on the kitchen counter.

“Not the final destination,” Steve told him. “Tony called. Said JARVIS caught something with the facial recognition software. 98% match came up in Utrecht. We’ll have to take a train the rest of the way, but this is the closest we can fly.” He laid the plan out flat and simple. Sam recognized the Captain America voice by now; the one that made the soldier in him stand at attention even when the guy across the breakfast nook was Steve, barefoot and wearing sweatpants. He also recognized that it was just as much of a costume as the star-spangled uniform.

“When exactly were you planning on telling me about our midnight flight?”

“After your run. You don’t have the energy to argue with me.” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, so that’s how it is?” Steve’s lips twitched up at the corners.

“That’s how it is.”

* * *

Steve took Sam out for breakfast after jogging, sliding into the corner booth at the diner they’d started to frequent. It was quiet, which was something of a rarity for them. For months after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve couldn’t go anywhere without somebody deciding it was their civic duty to publicly condemn or congratulate him for his actions.

Every time, he would have to stuff his mouth with a bite of waffles to keep from snapping at the person. Even the well-meaning college students made his blood boil because this wasn’t a political move. Steve lost Bucky fighting Hydra, Steve died to bring down Hydra, and Peggy built S.H.I.E.L.D. from the ground up. All of this, only for him to wake up seventy years later and learn that he’d failed. Hydra had infected Peggy’s grand legacy from the start and kept Bucky alive as a hollow shell, a weapon, right under his own nose.

To the rest of the country, he’d started the biggest political upset of the century. But for Steve, nothing had ever been so intensely personal. He remembered his words to Peggy, choked out over his grief in the ruins of a golden night:

“I’m not gonna stop until all of Hydra is dead or captured.” It was about time he upheld that promise.

“Earth to Steve, you in there?” Sam’s voice broke in. His eyes refocused, only to find Sam leaning towards him, hand waving inches from Steve’s nose. He shook his head to clear out the memories for the time being.

“Yeah, I’m still here.” Sam scoffed.

“Man, Natasha was right. You are a terrible liar.”

“Well I’m here now.”

“Better late than never, I suppose.” Steve tried for a grin as he replied,

“Story of my life.”

Both of them were starving, and wolfed down their breakfasts, barely acknowledging each other except for pleased grunts and the occasional gesture to pass the syrup. Steve was contemplating ordering another round of homefries while Sam mopped up the last smear of egg yolk with his toast, when the waitress came by to ask if they wanted a warm up on their coffees

“Yes please,” Steve said, moving his coffee mug over to the edge of the table.

“Thank you,” Sam nodded and smiled at her. They lingered over their coffees and ordered a couple donuts as they rehashed their packing list - or, really, Sam’s packing list. Steve never really bothered to unpack anymore, taking his travelling clothes out of the washing machine and folding them right back into his duffle bag. “I think we’re in good shape,” Sam told Steve as they crossed off the last item. He stretched his arms over his head and settled back into the booth, yawning, “now all we have to do is make sure we’re awake to catch our flights.”

* * *

 

Three more rundowns of the list, four hours of video games, and a hell of a lot of pacing (on Steve’s part, Sam napped) later, they made their way through security at JFK as quickly as possible, trying their best to explain the shield and Falcon wings without causing a scene. Luckily, the guard checking them was a fan of the Avengers and quietly waved them through with a conspiratorial wink and a promise to “keep their trip classified.”

Steve felt more than a little uncomfortable as they made their way to first class to find their seats. He’d tried flying in coach on a mission with Natasha once, and found that he really didn’t fit in the cramped space. Still, as used to the future as he was, Steve never quite adjusted to the luxury people lived in. All it reminded him of was the wealthy bankers and stockbrokers that plunged the country, including his neighborhood, into the poverty of the Depression. Sam had no such qualms about their fancy seats, sighed happily as he sank down into the cushions.

“You should get some sleep,” Sam told him, reclining his own chair and trying to settle in. “I know you won’t be resting much after we land.”

“Yeah, alright. Goodnight.”

* * *

 

When they disembarked in Amsterdam, the sun was high and bright in the sky. They grabbed a quick lunch at a cafe, and made it to the train station just in time to catch the next ride to Utrecht. With the time difference, they arrived in the city at 3:30, and by the time they were checked into their hotel, the sun had begun to set. Each of them packed a small backpack to bring with them. Steve had clean clothes, some granola bars, and his cell phone; Sam brought his first aid kit. Which of the three of them it was for, he couldn’t quite say.

JARVIS’s intel led them to a street corner at the edge of town. A car had run a red light, and the traffic cam had picked up Bucky standing on the sidewalk in the background. They had no way of knowing if he was still in town, or where in town he might’ve been staying (provided he hadn’t just been passing through after all). Steve had a gut sense about it, though. There was no airport here; Bucky would’ve had to take a train from Amsterdam, just like they had. It wasn’t the sort of city one just transitioned in. This was a destination.

Steve and Sam stood on the street corner and turned a full circle, taking their time observing as much of the area as they could. It was hard to figure out what they were looking for though, since neither of them really knew if they were supposed to be thinking like James Barnes, or the Winter Soldier, or some mish-mash of the two.

“Let’s fan out,” Sam suggested after several minutes of watching and seeing nothing that sparked an interest. Steve pulled out a printed copy of the traffic cam photo and matched it up to the buildings around them. In the photograph, Bucky seemed ready to cross the street to their left.

“Maybe he was on his way somewhere else. If we start in this direction, we might see something.”

“Something” turned out to be an empty apartment building. It was boarded up, but not crumbling, the FOR SALE sign still sticking out of the small patch of grass out front. They circled the building. careful to make sure no pedestrians were around to see them slip into the side alley. At each piece of plywood, they carefully inspected the edges, looking carefully for signs that the board had been pulled away or the nails re-hammered.

They finally found one, around the backside of the building. One of the planks over the service entrance reached all the way to the ground, and was only being held into the doorframe by a single nail. All the others’ points had been snapped so that only the heads remained lodged in the wood. Keeping up appearances.

“This is too smart for vandals. They would’ve just broken right through,” Sam said, and Steve tried not to choke on the hope welling up. Just because the person breaking into the building knew how to cover their tracks didn’t mean that they were Bucky.

“You think it’s him?” Steve asked anyway, because he was never going to stop being overly optimistic about his chances here.

“Could be,” Sam allowed, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “Might not be though,” he warned, shooting Steve a look that said he knew exactly how high his hopes were.

“Only one way to find out, I guess.”

* * *

 

The inside of the building smelled stale and dusty, but not bad, which was surprising. All the abandoned buildings Steve had ever been in reeked of either gunpowder or urine. This place was clean, though. Just neglected. They walked through the building, checking the doorknobs to see if the dust had been disturbed, and feeling a little silly for knocking, but trying anyway, before forcing the doors in. After six false alarms, Sam made Steve take a break. That much disappointment could really take a toll on a guy. While he sat and ate a granola bar, Steve tried to put himself in Bucky’s head. Where would he hide out? How would he pick a place? Clearly he hadn’t gone for any of the first options presented, so there had to be a strategy.

“Top floor,” he blurted, jumping to his feet and shoving his wrapper back into the pack. Sam looked at him, startled, but then blinked and nodded, catching on.

“Right. Snipers like their high ground.”

“Exactly.”

They elected to just search every apartment on the top floor, to be certain they wouldn’t miss anything, and on the fourth one, the door creaked open, and Steve bolted inside before Sam’s eyes could adjust. What remained of Bucky’s hideout was stashed in the windowless dining area of the apartment and consisted of an air mattress, half a loaf of bread, empty cans of fruit, vegetables, and soup, with a small pile of clothes folded beside it all. Steve unfolded them and recognized them quickly as the outfit he’d been wearing in the footage captured from the Smithsonian security cameras.

“He’s ditching them,” Sam said. “He knows we’ve got pictures.” Steve felt his stomach clench at the thought of Bucky deliberately hiding from him. He knew they wouldn’t find anything helpful left in the pockets, but Steve turned them all inside out anyway. Sam picked up the air mattress and shook it out, if for no reason but to keep his hands busy. Looking for Bucky was clearly hurting Steve, but stopping would be even worse, and the situation made Sam restless, determined that if he had to let Steve be in pain, at least he wouldn’t stand idle while it happened.

As it happened, Sam’s nervous tic paid off. Out of the folds fell a thin guidebook of Russia, discarded from a public library and out of date by almost twenty years. Sam leafed through it quietly, turning the pages slowly and looking for anything that might give a hint as to what Barnes had been after. There were a few annotations and circled destinations, but the pencil marks were faded and smudged, clearly made by tourists who had borrowed the book to plan their own vacations. The only thing that jumped out at him was the single missing page, cut away from the spine so close and smooth that he would’ve missed it completely if he wasn’t counting the page numbers. Sam flipped to the index, careful to keep the book out of Steve’s sight for the moment. He wasn’t going to get the guy’s hopes up if the book was just another dead end.

“Steve,” he called. “I think I know where he’s headed next.” Steve looked up from where he’d been peeling up the sole of a sneaker and dropped it when he saw the book in Sam’s hands.

“Where?” Sam showed him the missing page and then flipped to the index where it read Map of Leningrad Underground (77). “It’s renamed St.Petersburg now, but you guys would remember it as Leningrad. They didn’t change it till ‘91, so there’s a good chance that the Soldier’s Cold War memories have the old name too. Whatever base he’s looking for there is probably where the Winter Soldier Program started.” Steve stared, wordless for a moment, before pulling in a breath and saying,

“We need to call Natasha.”


	2. ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA

“As far as I know, that base hasn’t been active since the Berlin Wall came down,” Natasha said, blowing softly on her latte and taking a careful sip. “Afterwards, it looks like they moved operations to Moscow and a few remote laboratories in northern Siberia.” She shrugged and placed her cup on the saucer in front of her. “But then again, I only act like I know everything.”

“So what you’re telling us is that we don’t know what we’re walking into and there’s no way to find out except to walk in blind,” Sam summed up. Natasha nodded slowly and dunked her biscotti.

“That’s pretty much what we’re looking at.” Steve leaned forward on his elbows.

“So, are you coming along for the ride or just passing through?”

“I’ll be local if you need extraction, but I don’t think James will be too eager to see me just now. Especially where you’re headed.” With that, she polished off the last bite of biscotti and stood with her to-go cup, calling an end to the meal. Sam and Steve walked with her to the door, but once they stepped outside, she kissed them each on the cheek and disappeared into the shifting crowd. How a woman a beautiful as Natasha Romanoff managed that always mystified Steve, but in that familiar awed way he’d always regarded the women in his life.

“I will never understand how she does that,” Sam said, voicing Steve’s thoughts.

“I think that’s probably the point.”

* * *

 

The location Natasha had given them led them several miles outside the city limits, into a well forested area back from the highway. Neither of them was all that concerned about stealth, but years of training meant that they automatically stepped lightly as the wound through the trees, following the mostly-overgrown trail. It seemed that the base really had been quiet in recent years, if the undisturbed snow and gnarled roots beneath were any clue.

There was no plan beyond: Find Bucky, shoot Hydra. No point in making one if even Natasha didn’t have specific intel. The only real advantage they had was the chance to get there before Bucky moved on, so they’d left shortly after their meeting at the coffee shop, dropping by the hotel only long enough to retrieve their gear before heading out again. As they trekked, Sam kept sneaking glances at Steve, noting the clench of his jaw and the way that his strides would speed up too much when he got lost in his head until Sam had to jog after him and grab hold of his arm to bring him out of it. This, he realized, was the best historical re-enactment anyone had ever witnessed: Steve Rogers marching off into the unknown to find Bucky Barnes. It was inspiring, that devotion. No wonder their friendship had been touted in every U.S. History textbook across the nation.

It took Sam a half hour of walking in silence to gather the nerve to ask the question he’d been pondering since his junior year AP class.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“I gotta ask you something, and feel free to tell me it’s none of my business, because it really isn’t, but…”

“Yeah?”

He took a deep breath before pressing on, “What were you and Barnes to each other? I mean, was it really ‘best friends since childhood,’ ‘inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield’?” Steve stopped dead and looked at him, startled.

“What?” Sam turned back to face him and held his hands up.

“Like I said, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Just...if there was something you wanted to get off your chest, you know I’ll listen anytime. Secrets are pretty heavy burdens. Even for supersoldiers.” Steve relaxed his shoulders, shoving his hands into the pockets of his winter coat and studying the ground between their feet. He stayed silent for several minutes, lost in his head yet again, but Sam thought he had a decent guess as to where his mind had gone this time, so he waited patiently for him to speak.

“We were in love,” Steve murmured, almost too soft to hear. Sam nodded, face solemn.

“Yeah. That’s pretty much what I thought.” Steve met his eyes again.

“You knew?”

“Hate to break it to you, but it’s pretty obvious the second you stop operating under the assumption that any dude with the title 'Captain America' has to be a raging heterosexual.” Steve gave him a rueful grin.

“That’s kinda what we were counting on to keep us out of jail.” And what was there to say to that? Sam had gotten pretty well used to Steve being a bit of a window into the past, but so far, that hadn’t extended past bafflement over the variety of yogurt flavors available and memory of a time before Social Security.

“We’re gonna get your boy back,” is what comes out of his mouth, and he pats Steve’s back in what he hopes is a reassuring way, and Steve nods.

“I’m not giving up this time.”

“You and I have very different definitions of giving up,” Sam joked, taking a stab at lightening the mood. With no clue what kind of a scene they were about to walk into, he figured a pinch of levity couldn’t hurt as they resumed their walk.

* * *

 

Sundown came early, low-hanging clouds rolling in to swallow up the last light. Sam and Steve found themselves crouched in the brush near a clearing, peering down into the valley before them at the darkened Hydra base. The access road had stayed as overgrown and snowed in as it had appeared from the road, but as they got closer and could see down to the paths connecting the garage and outbuildings to the main base, the snow was littered with footsteps, tamping down the snow around it.

“Shit,” Sam muttered. “We’re gonna have company.” Beside him, Steve was already getting to his feet and pulling the shield from his back.

“We have to go now; Bucky could be hurt. I’ll flush them out best I can, and you stay airborne to pick them off.”

“Steve-”

“We’re not raiding for intel, Natasha went public with all their current files. I don’t care about anything else until Bucky’s back.” Sam stood beside him and checked that his guns were loaded. He wanted to insist on going in at Steve’s six, but the unfortunate thing about working with Steve Rogers and caring about Steve Rogers, was that the plan usually involved Steve standing between everyone else and a loaded gun, and those plans usually worked.

“Alright,” he relented. “But just remember to be careful. Won’t do Barnes any good if you get yourself killed rescuing him.”

“I know, don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.” And with that, Steve marched off towards the base.

“Oh that’s real fucking reassuring,” Sam muttered, but he deployed his wings anyway and took off.

Steve made no effort to be inconspicuous, striding towards the front entrance with his jaw squared and shield swinging on his arm. The first guard barely made it through the doorway before a perfectly-angled throw at his chest sent him slamming into the metal doors and crumpling to the ground. There was a beat of silence while the other Hydra agents steeled their nerves, and Steve snatched the shield out its rebound just in time to meet the wave that came charging out at him, double doors flinging open wide and shoving the fallen body out of sight in the corner. Steve didn’t dare let the shield out of his grip when he was so vastly outnumbered, and got in close enough to start smacking them aside. He heard gunshots and saw agents at the edges of the fray dropping as Sam took aim, and Steve started pushing forward, trying to get through the doors and into the base.

A knife arced towards his ribcage. He caught the agent’s wrist and twisted until he heard a snap and muffled scream. The knife was taken easily and the man’s throat slit one-handed as Steve deflected a stream of gunfire with the shield on his forearm. He threw the knife into the chest of the guard that had shot at him and kept moving, bashing another in the head with his shield. A couple of others backed out of his way at the wet crack that signaled more than just helmet being crushed with the impact.

More soldiers kept flooding out of the base as quickly as he and Sam could fight them off, but luckily, they seemed confused enough that Steve was able to go unnoticed by most of them, lost in the tangle of Hydra agents already outside. Sam was diving out of the streams of gunfire, but holding his own, and for the time being, he’d taken most of the attention off of Steve. With a rib-crushing kick at the final operative in front of him, Steve had a clear path and sprinted for the doors, blinking away the sudden burn of fluorescent lighting.

“Bucky!” he screamed, still whipping his shield down the hallway, letting it ricochet off the walls and clear through the Hydra agents that were still appearing from deep in the bowels of the base. He tried to ignore the twisting of his stomach as he flung open doors and called Bucky’s name, only to be met with glinting wasp helmets and dusty laboratories. It seemed that whatever scientific research the facility had been constructed for was long over. Nobody but the soldiers were still there, probably stationed specially in case the Winter Soldier started backtracking. And that...that was terrifying the hell out of Steve because this was not a crew sent to retrieve the Asset. This wasn’t even a mission to capture a fugitive.

They wanted Bucky dead.

Hydra sent an army to overwhelm him by sheer numbers, because the Winter Soldier could bring death to a thousand men, but everyone in Hydra was disposable. As long as the thousand and first man got a lucky shot, the mission would be a success.

Although, two guys was still not much against an army either…

Steve brought his wrist close to his mouth to radio Sam, “How you holding up out there?” He caught the throat of the next agent and snapped his neck, flung the body like a rag doll into the two coming up the stairs and charged after the tumble of limbs.

“Still in one piece,” came his reply, crackling over comms. “How ‘bout you?”

“All appendages are present and accounted for.”

“Good. Let’s try an keep it that way.”

“Roger that.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Steve slammed his shield into the chest of the last Hydra agent ascending the stairs and knocked him back over the railing. After that, the hallway was ominously quiet. Steve listened intently, shield at the ready as he made his way through the sublevels. He swept the first floor as quickly as possible, bashing the doors open when more often than not, the doorknobs bent under his grip. Adrenaline swam in his veins, breath and heartbeat more erratic than he’d experienced since before the serum as he cleared through room after room with no sign of Bucky.

When he descended to the third sublevel, he picked up the shuffling and clanging of a close-quarters struggle. He pushed himself to run towards the sound as fast as his body would allow. As he neared the door at the end of the hall, he had gathered up too much momentum to slow himself down. Instead, he raised the shield and kept barreling forward, blowing the doors off their hinges and sending the twisted metal flying into the room. A lucky move, since they took out three of the agents nearest to the door. There were about twenty in all, though some were already on the ground and the others circled the middle of the room with electrified batons out and at the ready. Finally Steve lost patience with hand to hand and drew his sidearm, easily making the shots at point blank range. The agents in front of him fell to the ground and at the sight before him, his vision tinged red around the edges.

Bucky was backed against the wall, a knife gripped in his right hand, but his left was caught in a gigantic machine, like a vice. His hair was shaggy and his clothes dirty, but the real kicker was the wild look in his eyes. Bucky looked like a feral dog trapped in an alley, and he fought like one too, striking out wildly and screaming in pain when a baton caught him before snarling and kicking out at the guards that hadn’t noticed Steve’s entrance through the chaos.

Steve grabbed at the hair of the Hydra agent dumb enough to go without a helmet and yanked his head back hard and fast, until there was a popcracksnap and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. The last one turned to strike out at Steve, who barely looked away from Bucky to throw his shield at the man’s throat with enough force to slice his head clean off before embedding in the mortar between the cinder block wall.

“Buck,” Steve panted, hands hanging limp and uncertain at his sides. Bucky flinched away instinctively, backing as close to the wall as he could get, knuckles going white around the grip of the knife, but his arm doesn’t move. In fact, it’s kind of held at an odd angle, forearm swollen and purple. “Are you hurt?” Steve asked, taking a step closer. Bucky looks between Steve and the vice holding his metal arm, like he might rather just yank and leave the metal behind if he could get as far away from Steve as possible, but… Bucky nodded, and Steve could’ve cried with relief because Bucky knew him. Of course, if they were still just an asset and his mission there would never be an admission of weakness, and he could dwell on how that meant that Bucky just didn’t want to be near Steve in particular, but well, he’d always been an optimist when it came to Buck. “Where?” Bucky was shaky and sweaty, face ashen. He was clearly weak from pain and exhaustion, so it took a moment for him to wet his lips and force out the words,

“My arm. Real one. Broken. Little stuff...everywhere.”

“I’ll call Sam. He’s got medic training, he can help.” He watched Bucky’s face carefully as the information absorbed, and then checked, “Is that okay?” A stiff nod in reply, and Steve was bringing up his comms again and saying, “Sam, I found him. We’re in sublevel three, and he’s got injuries. Meet us?”

“Yeah, things look pretty well cleaned up out here. On my way,” came the response. Steve lowered his wrist and slowly came to stand at Bucky’s side, telegraphing his movements, and reaching out to feel the vice holding Bucky’s metal arm.

“You might wanna leave that alone for now,” Bucky offered.

“What do you mean?”

“If Wilson is gonna set my arm, it might be less...risky if I’m restrained while he does it. I don’t wanna hurt people anymore.”

“Bucky, I’m not leaving you trapped.”

“Worried you’ll hurt my feelings?” The tone was mocking and bitter, and Steve had to remind himself of the situation to keep tears from pricking at his eyes because Bucky never talked like that; never sounded mean.

“No, I-”

“Somebody called for a medic?” Sam’s voice echoed out from the doorway.

“Right here,” Steve said. Sam took in the sight of the enormous vice, and whistled.

“Man, how’d you manage that?”

“Would you believe I don’t really remember?” Bucky asked, deadpan, but with a sardonic smile playing at the edges of his lips.

“I’m gonna try to pull him out,” Steve told Sam, which prompted Bucky to cut in,

“Because he’s a moron. You should set my arm while I can’t move to get at you.”

“No,” Steve said, voice stern. “We’re not doing anything with you locked up. Hold my damn hand if you have to, but this isn’t right.” Bucky looked to Sam, waiting for someone to side with reason.

“He’s right. I’m not doing jack with you stuck like this.” Bucky scowled, but Sam just shrugged. “Sorry man, morals.” Steve hooked his fingers into the metal of the vice and pulled, muscles straining, and veins standing out against his skin until the clamp groaned and lifted just enough for Bucky’s arm to be yanked out before Steve let go and the metal jaws slammed shut with a clang that echoed off the walls. Steve stepped back so that Bucky could follow him out into the middle of the room where Sam was digging his medkit out of the wings’ storage compartment.

“Are you okay with this?” Steve checked.

“Pretty sure if either of you wanted to hurt me, you would’ve done it already,” Bucky replied, which was...not exactly encouraging as far as bringing him home and living happily ever after, but at least qualified as consent for Sam to splint his arm and maybe treat some of the burns the batons had left where they’d nicked against exposed skin.

“Alright man,” Sam said, sitting down on the floor to Bucky’s right, splint in hand. “Lucky for you, I pack for Steve-sized injuries, so we don’t have to scrape together some plywood and duct tape for this.”

“Yeah, I feel lucky.” Bucky dropped the knife with a wince and rested his hand on his knee. Sam barked out a surprised laugh, and looked to Steve, who was watching Barnes like the first summer he’d seen in seven years. It seemed that Bucky Barnes really was -if not well- certainly alive.

Steve laced his fingers with Bucky’s metal ones as Sam felt the break in the bone and let Bucky nearly crush his bones to dust at the sudden stab of pain as the bone was set. Sam flinched and Steve felt his stomach turn, more for the lack of reaction in Bucky’s face than sympathy pains. The splint was taped on securely as quick as possible, and then Sam left to go sit by the doorway while Bucky supressed the Soldier, woken by the pain and instinctively wanting to strike out at Sam. As he came back to himself, Steve took a small tube of burn cream and gently rubbed it into the red marks on his arm and neck. The soothing cool and the tenderness in Steve’s touch helped him find even ground again, and when the tube of ointment was recapped and Bucky stood, the three of them walked out of the base in silence, Bucky carrying one of Sam’s guns as they covered each other, senses alert in case any Hydra agents remained.

The closer they got to the exit, the more bodies lay in the hallway, all the evidence remaining of Steve’s earlier rampage.

“Damn, Rogers,” Sam whistled as they stepped into the cold night and the heap of dead Hydra agents from the initial distraction. “That’s one hell of a breadcrumb trail.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve rolled his shoulders, like he was working out a tight muscle. “They started it. Everybody knows you never mess with the Howling Commandos. Ain’t that right, Buck?” Steve turned to look where Bucky had been on his six, smile already half-formed.

Bucky was gone, disappeared into snow and forest.


	3. CASABLANCA, MOROCCO

Steve’s cell phone woke him up on Saturday. 5:30 in the morning, it let out the shrill cry of an antique telephone and vibrated against the nightstand. At the first shriek, he jolted awake, only to recognize his bedroom. He flopped back down against the pillows, closing his eyes to the far-too-early morning light filtering in through the shades. The phone stopped ringing, sending the caller to voicemail. He breathed a sigh of relief and turned back onto his side to try for another few hours of rest.

Only to have the landline go off all the way in the kitchen. He let out a pained groan as he rolled out of his soft, warm bed and trudged down the hallway just in time to catch the call.

“‘Lo?” he mumbled into the receiver.”

“Captain Rogers,” Maria Hill’s voice was firm and crisp as ever, giving her greeting the effect of a bucket of ice water. “Sorry to wake you, but we need you to come in.”

“What’s happening?” he asked, trying to clear the last tendrils of fog from his head.

“Can’t say. Just come in.” The line went dead, and Steve found that the droning dial tone reflected his state of mind quite accurately.

* * *

 

An hour later, Steve was dressed, if somewhat rumpled, and seated in a Stark Industries conference room with Maria, Sam, Natasha, and Tony, who Steve was quite frankly shocked to see awake, even if he did happen to live on the premises.

“Two hours ago, we intercepted a signal from a Hydra base in Casablanca, Morocco. The first part of the message was an SOS, but the second seems to be a code specific to them. We can’t figure out what it means. However, our satellite images are telling us that the exterior is intact.”

“So someone’s got them on the run from the inside,” Steve murmured, trying to quell the burn of hope in his chest, waiting for Maria to confirm what his gut was saying.

“And since you were busy getting your beauty rest at the time,” Sark piped up.

“We’re now down to one suspect of who could take out an entire base single-handedly,” Natasha finished.”

“Ha, ‘single-handedly’ I see what you did there,” Stark pointed at her.

“Stark -” Steve warned.

“What? She said it!”

* * *

 

The meeting was short lived from there. Maria called for an intern to bring her some aspirin and a comically large mug of coffee. Tony persuaded the intern to then go fetch him an equally enormous mug, and Steve asked Sam and Natasha to come with him to follow up in Casablanca. They were scheduled to take the quinjet as soon as it could be prepped, and Steve packed a suitcase from the small selection of belongings he kept in his quarters at the tower.

Sam offered to drive, but Natasha took one look at his bleary expression and told him,“You look like a the living dead. Try asking again when you’re decently rested.” When Steve went to take his seat across the aisle from Sam, Natasha gave him a look that plainly commanded follow me. Steve tensed, and took extra care storing his luggage while he tried to compose himself for the coming conversation. He couldn’t stall too long though, but Sam made the effort to jokingly call up to Natasha,

“Just don’t give him the wheel, I’ve got plans this decade!” Admittedly, he felt a little better, even managing to give Sam a put-upon look as he ducked into the cockpit.

Natasha checked the controls, gesturing for Steve to take the copilot’s seat while she got the go-ahead from the air traffic controller to take off. Her voice was cool and even, following protocol to the letter. She took them to cruising altitude in silence. When she flipped on the autopilot switch and swiveled her chair to face him, Steve set his jaw and prepared himself.

"I know this isn't what you want to hear," she began. "But I still don't think you should be pulling this thread. He made it pretty clear last time you saw him that he wasn't ready to be found. If you keep looking..." She trailed off, biting her lip, and Steve could tell she was trying to take the sting out of her next words, figuring out how to make her point without him shutting her out. "You might spook him. And then, I don’t know if he’ll ever come back.”

“What would you have done? When you were like him?”

“In my more lucid days, I would’ve felt trapped. When I was drifting...I probably would’ve thought you were with the Red Room; a handler trying to regain control.”

“He knew me though. In Russia, we spoke and he knew who I was.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“He knew my name.”

“Anyone who’s watched the news knows your name. I mean, did he bring up any specific details, anything about your life together?” Steve played the conversation back, trying to recall.

“No,” he admitted. “I guess not.”

“Then we have to assume he doesn’t really know what’s going on.”

“But -”

“Steve, stop.” Her voice was hard, but her touch was gentle when she placed her hand on his forearm. He looked down at her fingers, small and pale and deadly. “You can’t be objective here, I know that. I can’t expect you to look at this, at him, like an outsider. But that’s what you have me for, and I can’t in good conscience let you go chasing after him without warning you. And I know you’re probably going to completely ignore everything I say, but somebody’s got to be realistic.”

“You’re probably right,” He told her, nodding. “But on the off chance that you don’t know everything, I have to keep trying anyway.” Natasha pursed her lips, not happy with his response, but accepting it. She knew better than to try changing his mind. Her hand slipped down his arm until she could lace their fingers together on the armrest of his seat. He squeezed briefly, smile sad around the edges, and Natasha turned her seat back to watch the clouds part around them.

* * *

 

The quinjet’s intercom crackled to life, and Sam’s voice reverberated through the passenger bay, “GOOOOOOD MORNING VIETNAM!” Steve jerked against the seatbelt strapped over his stomach. Natasha looked more like a cat sprayed with a garden hose: frizzy haired and pissed off. “We’re gonna be coming in for a landing in the next few minutes, so everybody batten your hatches.” Nat sighed irritably, crossing her arms as the plane dipped and Sam brought them to a landing.  As the plane stilled, Steve and Natasha unbuckled their seatbelts and made their way to the cockpit to meet Sam.

“I’ll keep the engine running just in case,” Natasha volunteered, taking the headset from Sam. “Radio if you need backup.”

“You sure?” Sam asked. “I mean, you do have seniority in the whole superhero-ing department.”

“If we really are looking at the Winter Soldier’s work, the last time he saw you two, you patched up his boo-boo and walked away fine. The last time I saw him, I wrapped a garotte wire around his neck, and he shot me.”

“Yeah...Maybe it’s best you two warmed up to each other someplace less...volatile,” Steve suggested, hooking the shield onto his back.

“I’ll have Clint set up a playdate.” Her voice was sickly sweet, smile twisted with dark humor. She dropped the walkway, and Steve took a breath.

“Here we go again.”

* * *

 

Sam and Steve approached the Hydra base unopposed. The city of Casablanca rose against the horizon, but the building itself was isolated. When they reached the entrance, they found the doors already flung open.

“Well if this isn’t the opening to a horror movie, I don’t know what is,” Sam mused. Then, they crossed the threshold and caught the stench of blood hanging thick and metallic in the air. “Alright, Jason is definitely here,” he corrected himself, stepping over the first mangled body.

“His name is James,” Steve snapped, and Sam held up his hands.

“Whoa man, it’s from Friday the 13th.”

“Sorry, sorry. I just…”

“It’s fine, Steve. I know.” The dead Hydra agents here were more gruesome than the ones in St. Petersburg. One they came across mounted to the wall, hunting knife buried in his throat. Another had the Winter Soldier’s red star carved into his chest. Bucky had been looking for information in Russia. Now he was out for revenge. They cleared through the hallways slowly, occasionally raidioing in to Natasha that they were still in one piece. But as they approached the basement labs, they heard rustling of paper. Steve eased the door open.

Bucky sat on the floor, surrounded by paper. At the sound from the doorway, Bucky grabbed his sidearm and turned, gun cocked and aimed at Steve’s head in a heartbeat. They stood facing each other in silence for a moment before Bucky holstered the gun and exhaled an annoyed sigh.

“Thought I told you to give up,” he said, voice rough with disuse. Steve considered lying and saying that he was only there on assignment, but Bucky had always seen right through him.

“I couldn’t,” he admitted.

“I almost shot you in your goddamn head, Steve. Doesn’t take a genius to know you shouldn’t be following me around.”

“Doesn’t take a genius to know I’ll take that risk.” Bucky shook his head, but didn’t say anything. “Can I ask what you’re looking for?”

“Intel that isn’t here,” he told Steve.

“I could help you.”

“Stop trying.”

“No.” Bucky stood up from the wrecked files.

“Get out of my way.”

“Bucky -”

“If you won’t move, I’ll pick you up myself. I can’t be here.”

“Why?” Steve stepped back reflexively, letting Bucky pass, and Steve moved out of the way. Sam followed, clearing out of Barnes’s path as he breezed past. Steve followed Bucky out of the Hydra base, nearly tripping over bodies in his rush to keep Bucky in sight, calling after him. Every time he was met with silence, it reverberated in his chest like a punch, squeezing tighter and tighter. By the time they reached daylight, Steve’s eyes were watering, and all he could see ahead of him was a moving shadow. Bucky didn’t slow down until they were outside, standing on the airstrip. He stared up at the quinjet, shoulders rigid.

“Bucky,” Steve started, reaching out to grab his shoulder and turn him around. He looked at Steve with red-rimmed eyes.

“Steve,” Bucky choked out. “Stevie, you gotta let me do this, alright? I can’t trust myself yet. I’ve gotta figure out who I am now and I’ve gotta make those bastards pay, but the second I’m ready, and I mean the very second I can, I’m coming home to you.” He tightened his grip on Steve’s face, hard enough to hurt a little, but not leaving bruises. Steve kind of wished he would though. Something to see in the mirror and know his fella was out there and coming back. It felt like an impossible request, but Bucky had returned from the dead seventy years later for him. The least he could offer in return was a few months.

“Okay,” Steve whimpered. He didn’t bite the tears back anymore. The only person besides them on the airstrip was Sam, who had turned his back to give them at least the illusion of privacy. “Okay, but you have to swear you’ll make it back. I can’t do this again without you, Buck. It was too hard the first time; I won’t survive a second.” Bucky swiped his thumbs over Steve’s cheek, wiping away the tears only to have more take their place. He pressed their foreheads together, and the ends of his hair hid their faces, tickling Steve’s ears.

“I promise.” Bucky tilted his chin up, pressing their mouths together in a soft kiss, lips dragging lazily. His tongue flicked out to lick at Steve’s bottom lip, but before Steve got a chance to deepen the kiss, Bucky pulled back. He wrapped his arms around Steve, who buried his face in Bucky’s neck. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he whispered into Steve’s hair before kissing the top of his head and backing away. Steve knew what his line was here, but when he opened his mouth to deliver it, all that came out was a choking sob.

When he was able to blink the tears away enough to see, Bucky had already left, and Sam had taken his place, standing in front of Steve, at a loss for words. He tossed an arm around Steve’s shoulders, gently turning him away from where he was staring after Barnes, trying to find his outline against the horizon.

“Come on, man,” he tugged him towards the quinjet, and Steve stumbled dazedly along with him, shoulders still shaking. “Let’s just go home.”


	4. BERN, SWITZERLAND

The conference was not important, at least not in the grand geopolitical scheme of things. Steve figured that’s why he’d been sent; after all, he is about as far from being a politician as one could get without standing on Mars. Then again, knowing how punchy the agents could get during slow months, he wouldn’t have put it past them to have sent him to a forum on glacial melting on basis of irony alone. Sam had told him to take the assignment anyway. Well, his exact words were, 

“You need to get out, man. And if you won’t take a damn vacation, this is the next best thing, so you’re getting on that plane if I have to shove you in a suitcase and check you through customs.”

Steve had been halfway regretting his decision since the plane touched down, and after a full day of meetings, he was no happier. He was the kind of tired that came wit sitting in uncomfortable seats and listening to droning lectures for eight hours. When he was finally released from the uncomfortable small-talk of dinner, he ducked into the first empty elevator and headed to his room before anyone could invite him to join the delegation for drinks. The door his room swung shut with a louder thud than necessary, and he leaned on it, letting his head thunk back against the wood as he let out an exhausted sigh.

After a few deep breaths, Steve started to feel vaguely human again, but the tie around his neck suddenly felt constricting. He loosened it, not bothering to take the knot all the way out before pulling it over his head and hanging it over the bedpost. His suit jacket and pants were draped over the small armchair, but his button down, t-shirt, boxers, and socks were left in a pile where he stood. He pulled on his pajamas slowly, stretching and yawning as he tugged the clean t-shirt over his head.

He’d wandered into the bathroom to brush his teeth when a crash sounded from the balcony outside his room. Steve dropped his toothpaste, grabbing his shield from the tiny hallway as he spun around into the main section of the hotel room. For a flash, he was just as confused as he’d been on the bridge in D.C.

“Bucky?” he called, stunned. He quickly recovered and dropped the shield, racing to unlock the french doors and pull Bucky inside.

Bucky was soaked with melting snow,not dressed warmly enough for the cold February night. His lips were blue and his eyes glazed, as he sluggishly stumbled after Steve. 

“‘S cold, Stevie,” he mumbled.

“I know it is, yeah,” Steve agreed, shutting the doors behind them and pulling the shades. Bucky’s gaze focused on him.

“You should be wearin’ a sweater...Catch your death,” he continued, swaying on his feet as he reached out to Steve fingers trembling. Steve took the outstretched hand, almost flinching away at the icy touch of Bucky’s skin. He was shivering hard, body jerking, and he was clearly delirious. Steve didn’t bother trying to correct him though, just tried to wrack his brain for how to treat hypothermia and tugged Bucky closer so he could start stripping him out of his sopping clothes. His first instinct was to shove Bucky into the tub, but he seemed to recall being told not to do that, so he opted for the next fastest option.

“You’re right,” he told Bucky, trying not to be too disturbed at how pliant he was under Steve’s hands as he removed the long-sleeved t-shirt and stiff jeans. “It’s real cold. We should get in bed, yeah? That always helps.” Steve focused on Bucky’s shallow breathing and drooping eyes while he pulled down clinging boxers. Bucky nodded and reached for the hem of Steve’s t-shirt, but Steve backed just out of his grasp. If he let Bucky undress him, his body was not going to respond appropriately for the situation, and he really wasn’t prepared to go down that road, especially with Bucky’s thinking still in the wrong time. “Why don’t you start warming up the blankets, yeah?” he suggested, gently coaxing Bucky over to the bed and laying him down, pulling the covers up to his chin.

“‘Kay, jus’ long ‘s you don’t mind me watchin’ you.” Steve really didn’t like how slurred Bucky’s speech had gotten. He shucked out of his pajamas in record time and grabbed the spare blankets from the closet shelf, ignoring Bucky’s eyes on him until he’d spread the covers over the bed and pulled the covers back to slide under with him.

“Come here,” Steve whispered, opening his arms and folding Bucky into them. Bucky insisted on being the one to do the holding though, and so sTeve had to settle for wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist, face pressed to the side of his neck where damp strands of hair clung. He almost jumped out of his skin at the touch of Bucky’s metal arm. It was so impossibly cold, but he recovered from his flinch before Bucky’s sluggish thoughts could catch up and make him self conscious. Steve angled his head so that the warmth of his breath hit the seam of scar tissue, hoping to speed up the warming.

Bucky’s hands rubbed up and down Steve’s back, his nose occasionally dipping down to nuzzle at blonde hair. Steve settled in, trying to keep himself mindful of the fact that they weren’t back in Brooklyn. They were in a hotel room halfway around the world, and Bucky had damn near frozen to death. It didn’t stop him from smiling when Bucky touched him with familiar reverence, grazing fingertips over every inch he could reach.

Slowly, Bucky’s shivering slowed, and with it the movement of his hands, until he and Steve were lying together, half-asleep in each others’ arms.

“Steve?” he asked.

“Hmm? Yeah Buck?”

“How did I get here?” And with that, the dream was over. Steve was forced back into reality, and that meant having to pull back from Bucky, moving to the other side of the bed where he was able to make eye contact.

“You had hypothermia. You came to my window.”

“I’d been watching you.” Steve’s throat tightened.

“You’ve been watching me?”

“Yes.”

“How come?”

“It’s been awhile since you came and found me.”

“You told me to stop. Made me promise.”

“Yeah, I did. Guess I just didn’t really expect you to listen? I don’t know. Missed you though.”

“I miss you too.” Bucky cocked an eyebrow.

“Then what’re you doing all the way over there?” Steve’s heart jumped, fluttering like he was still skinny and sick. God, could Bucky really be saying what he thought? Was he really coming home to Steve after so long?

“You makin’ a pass, Barnes?” he asked.

“We’re both bare-assed in bed. Seems to me like you already took the initiative on this one.” Steve’s ears went warm. “And there’s that pretty blush I’ve been missing.” Bucky reached out across the bed, and Steve was all too willing to be pulled into a heady kiss. Bucky was aggressive, biting at Steve’s lips until they were red and tender, reaching up to tweak a nipple. Steve whined, too loud in the silence of the hotel room, but Bucky smiled so wide, their lips broke apart and dragged his grin down Steve's throat, nipping at the thin skin over his collar bones. Steve’s hips shifted forward, and he sucked in a gasp at the friction against his half hard cock. “Sounds like you’ve been missing me too.” Bucky gave a small thrust forward and Steve choked out,

“Yes. Yes, Buck. Missed you so much.” He pulled Bucky’s lips back to his, licking into his mouth and earning a surprised chuckled that tapered off into a low groan as Bucky rolled his hips against him. Steve’s legs tangled with Bucky’s pulling him in and rubbing their erections together, and it felt like coming home, having the warm weight of him back. “Missed this, missed touching you,” Steve breathed against Bucky’s neck, lips brushing sweat-damp skin. He slid his hands over the ridges of Bucky’s back, feeling out the new structure of him, bulkier than in the starving years of Brooklyn, but still covered in the same warm, soft skin. “Missed you inside me,” Steve admitted, blushing deeper, but not nearly embarrassed enough to stop rutting up against Bucky.

“Christ, Stevie,” Bucky groaned, pressing down against him, crushing Steve against the mattress in the way he’d always liked when he was small. “Miss it too. Wanna get in you.”

“God, Buck,” Steve panted. “Please.” Bucky let his right hand slip down over the curve of Steve’s lower back to his ass, parting his cheeks and letting the tip of a finger tease against his hole.

“You got any slick with you?” Steve pressed his forehead against Bucky’s collarbone and shook his head, whining miserably.

“No. Damnit, I left it at home. Didn’t think I’d be needing it.” Bucky tilted Steve’s chin back up to look at him and grinned.

“That’s okay. Guess we’ll just have to do this the old fashioned way.”

Bucky easily grabbed hold of Steve’s tiny waist and hauled him up to the top of the bed, relaxing himself against the pillows. It had been more than seventy years since they’d last gotten the chance to be together - hadn’t been able to take their time like this since before Bucky shipped out - but their bodies remembered their old patterns. It was comforting, how well-worn the routine was. The century, the country, the room were all so far away from anything they’d imagined back then, but Steve could swear he smelt the dust of their old ramshackle apartment as Bucky smirked up from between Steve’s legs.

Then he disappeared except for the mop of his hair and Steve tried to brace himself, but just like always, the first lick caught him completely off guard.

“Buck!” he squeaked,grasping for the wrought iron of the headboard. Steve felt the vibration of Bucky’s chuckle and dropped his head back, a small whimper getting stuck in his throat when he felt the wetness of Bucky’s tongue slide across his hole again. Bucky circled the tip around the tight ring of muscle before licking back over sloppily,with just a teasing hint of pressure. “Christ,” Steve sighed. “Oh god.” Bucky tilted his chin to place a sucking kiss at Steve’s perineum. “Ah, oh...oh, Bucky, god,” he breathed, eyes squeezing shut. Bucky smirked. He’d always loved the sounds Steve made in bed; breathy and sweet, even now when he could have shouted for all he was worth. It made his chest go warm and tight, the intimacy of not needing more than a sigh because they were thisclose, he had his Stevie right where he wanted him, sitting on Bucky’s face and squirming with pleasure as he started to gently press his tongue inside.

Bucky worked Steve open slowly, swirling his tongue, and teasing, slipping a finger and then two inside. Steve’s thighs trembled, and he could feel sweat at the backs of his knees, the small of his back, his chest, cooling in the night air while he burned. Bucky’s fingers curled, and with a clever twist of his wrist, he grazed Steve’s prostate.

“Buck!” Steve’s cry was loud, shocked out of him by the electricity racing up his spine. Bucky repeated the motion, rubbing against that same spot, making Steve whine. Just as Steve started to feel himself nearing the edge of his pleasure, Bucky’s fingers and tongue slipped out, leaving him gaping and desperate. “Fuck me,” he pleaded. “Bucky please, I’m ready, just-”

Warm calloused hands returned themselves to Steve’s hips, guiding him back down the bed so Bucky could sit up, meeting Steve’s bitten lips in a kiss.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he soothed. “Gonna make you feel real good. Just lay down, alright? Just relax.” Steve nodded and followed the direction, taking Bucky’s previous position, laying on his back, staring up at blue eyes and toned muscle, eyes wandering down Bucky’s chest to his cock, flushed and heavy between his legs.

Bucky leaned over Steve, whose legs tipped open to make room, wrapping around and holding tight. Letting his metal forearm bear his weight, Bucky raised his right hand to trace over Steve’s lips. Steve remembered how this went, knew what Bucky expected of him. He parted his lips, taking Bucky’s fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around each knuckle, dragging it up and down the sides until he could feel spit threatening to drip out the corners of his mouth. Bucky took his hand away, but smiled like he was proud of Steve for not needing to be told what to do. He reached down between them to take hold of his cock, stroking gently with spit-slick fingers.

“Jesus, Stevie,” he sighed, looking down with some kind of wonder on his face. “Can’t even believe how lucky I got with you. So beautiful.” He leaned in for a kiss, sucking Steve’s lower lip into his mouth and biting down softly.

“Need you,” Steve panted, lifting his hips impatiently.

“Alright, alright. Easy, sweetheart. Gotta go slow.” Knuckles brushed up and down Steve’s thigh, urging him to relax as Bucky lined up and pressed the head of his cock against Steve’s entrance. The stretch burned a little, but he couldn’t describe it as unpleasant. More like the tightness in his lungs as he climbed the stairs to their old walkup. Just a part of coming home. He muffled small moans in the side of Bucky’s neck, biting sometimes to keep from shouting.

The movement of Bucky’s hips was gentle, as he eased in, murmuring encouragements and praise as he sank deeper into Steve’s ass. “So good for me, Stevie. Feel so perfect around me. You’re Heaven, angel, you know that? Don’t ever gotta go anywhere else, just wanna stay right here. Christ, so sweet, just like that.” 

“Bucky,” he sighed, feeling hips press flush against his ass. “Can’t believe we ever lost this. I don’t wanna lose this.” his voice caught in his throat, coming out stilted and rough.

“No way, pal. Never again, alright?” Bucky kissed his cheek and pulled out halfway, thrusting back in as he murmured, “I’m with you till the end of the line. For good this time.”

“You better be,” Steve tried to sound scolding, but between the sparks burning beneath his skin and the tears pricking at his eyes, the words just came out cracked and pleading.

“I am,” Bucky promised in the soft voice he’d always reserved for Steve’s tearful moments. “I won’t run away again, I swear. I never wanted to be apart from you, not for a second,” Bucky’s own emotions getting the better of him. The first tear ran down the side of his nose and dripped off onto Steve’s lip. It glittered on his pink skin before disappearing into his mouth, and Bucky’s restraint snapped. He crushed their mouths together, searching out the salt of skin and sweat and tears, his hand gripping the back of Steve’s neck possessively. His hips moved faster, chasing after their rushed and ragged breaths. Steve lifted his hips to meet the thrusts, and the change in angle let Bucky’s dick brush over Steve’s prostate, drawing gasps and whimpers out of him. The sounds falling from Bucky’s own lips grew deeper and more animalistic as heat coiled low in his belly. Steve panted out a plea for Bucky to go faster, fuck him harder, and he was too far gone to deny the request. 

They rocked together, chasing their climaxes, as tears dried on their cheeks. Fingers dug bruises into hips and mouths sucked hickes onto necks and chests, marking each other. The heat around them was nearly enough to scald, flesh pink with arousal and exertion, but the words they spoke were loving. Steve came first, pulling away from a kiss to throw his head back against the pillow, back arching as come striped his stomach, hot and thick. The clench of his muscles, and the wanton sounds he made brought Bucky up and over the edge right behind him, coming, still buried inside of Steve.

His hips slowed to a stop and he pulled out, rolling off to Steve’s side. “Shit,” he panted, dropping a smiling kiss to Steve’s shoulder. “Don’t know how I could ever forget something that incredible.” Steve let out a breathless laugh and turned his head to meet Bucky’s eyes.

“I love you so damn much.” Bucky smiled even wider, but still tried to fit their mouths together again. It didn’t quite work, so he rubbed the tips of their noses together instead and said,

“I love you too.” 

They caught their breath for a few minutes before climbing reluctantly out of bed and stumbling to the shower. With greedy hands and light hearts, they washed each other in the tiny glass cubicle. They were dodging elbows and knocking knees, but nothing had ever felt so comfortable as the press of their skin together. It wasn’t until a few hours later, naked in bed again, but flipping through late-night cable that it occurred to Steve.

“Hey Buck,”

“Yeah?”

“I should probably call Hill about getting you a plane ticket, huh?” Bucky smiled and slid closer to tuck Steve against his chest.

“Do it in the morning. Tonight’s just for us.”


	5. BROOKLYN, NEW YORK (EPILOGUE)

“Hey, I’m home!” Bucky called into the apartment. He tossed his keys into the bowl and toed off his sneakers beside the door. He could smell dinner simmering on the stove, something fragrant that he didn’t recognize. Steve must’ve decided to surprise him. Lately, they had been exploring the many ways to prepare food that didn’t involve boiling the hell out of it. The results were mixed, but Bucky counted being on a first-name basis with both the pizza and Chinese delivery people as valuable social experience. This smelled mouth-watering though. He couldn’t wait to taste it.

When he turned towards the kitchen, he was greeted with an armful of Steve, still clad in an apron with a wooden spoon in hand, but he strode right into Bucky’s embrace anyway.

“I never get tired of hearing that,” Steve told him, arms wrapped around his neck and leaning in for a kiss, warm and lazy.

“Good, cuz you ain’t getting rid of me.”

“You just try making me let go now. It’s not happening.” Bucky smiled and reached down to pinch Steve’s ass, earning him a yelp and flushed cheeks.

“I like when you get possessive,” Bucky murmured, rubbing the tips of their noses together. “Almost as much as I like that pretty little blush of yours.”

“Bucky…”

“Yeah, babydoll?”

“You have about ten seconds to decide if we’re eating dinner now or much later.” 

Bucky whined, pressing even closer to Steve, hips rolling just the slightest bit. “Oh, Stevie. You’ve got me between a rock and a very hard place right now, if you catch my drift.” Steve laughed, throwing his head back, and finally stepping out of the hug.

“Alright, decision made. You are absolutely not getting laid after that. That was terrible.”

“How long does that ban last?” Bucky asked, following Steve to the kitchen where he was met with the most delicious smelling soup.

“Depends,” Steve shrugged, reaching into the cabinets for two bowls.

“On?”

“On when I’m done tormenting you.”

“Punk,” Bucky bumped Steve with his hip, taking the bowl he was offered and ladeling the thick soup into it.

"Jerk,” Steve shot back, smiling brightly over his shoulder. Bucky cut them each slices of fresh bread to go with the soup, and they took their dinner into the livingroom, sitting side by side on the couch.

They didn’t watch much of anything as they ate, just letting the dialogue fill the room as white noise, occasionally exchanging stories about their days.

“How was your session?” Steve asked, reaching for the butter and paying meticulous attention to spreading it evenly.

"It was good,” Bucky smiled softly at Steve. “No major breakthroughs or anything, but she asked about my life now and had me talk about being back with you. I don’t meet many people these days that haven’t met you first, so it’s...nice, ya know? To get to tell someone what you’re really like without them looking at me like I’m off my nut.” Steve laughed and finally resumed eating.

“So what’d you tell her about me?”

“Only the good things.”

“You’re saying I have bad qualities?” Bucky plucked the knife out of his hand, stopping the obsessive buttering.

“Loads of ‘em. You’re super annoying, actually.” Steve looked at him with offense, and snagged Bucky's bread, licking a stripe right through the smear of butter. "Hey!" Bucky yelped, and snatched the slice back. He pointed an accusing finger at Steve. "See? Annoying asshole."

“Make me a list,” he challenged.

“Well for starters, you snore. I mean, Jesus, wasn’t the serum supposed to fix your fucked up nose? And second, you leave your socks on the floor all the damn time. But just the socks, nothing else. It feels deliberate, like you’re trying to drive me up the wall. Plus there’s how you say “I can handle it” and it never seems to occur to you that I really don’t mind helping.”

“I should be able to take care of myself.” Bucky put his food down on the coffee table and took Steves to set aside as well.

“How many times am I gonna have to tell you,” he slid closer to Steve on the couch, arms wrapping around Steve’s waist. “You don’t have to. You’ve got me for keeps, alright? So get used to it.” He tipped his head closers to rest their foreheads together. Small pieces of hair had slipped out of Bucky’s bun and tickled at Steve’s cheeks. “I like taking care of you.” Bucky pressed closer, and Steve followed until his back was pressed against the cushions, Bucky’s thigh slotting between his legs. 

They made out lazily on the couch, kissing with soft, open mouths and rolling their hips without intent. Neither of them was very focused on getting off, just trailing fingers under shirts and pulling soft sounds from each other as their dinner went cold. Bucky sucked a hickey into Steve’s neck, and at the scrape of teeth against his throat, Steve reached to grip Bucky’s hair, only to find it still pulled back. He hooked a finger in the elastic and pulled it free so that he could tangle his fingers in the long strands, keeping Bucky’s mouth right where he wanted.

“I’d guess you like me taking care of you too,” Bucky nosed at the underside of Steve’s jaw, directing him to tip his head back and expose more of his neck to be marked up. Steve hummed, low and happy.

“You’re too good at it. ‘M gettin’ spoiled,” he mumbled, kissing the top of Bucky’s head. Bucky pulled his lips away, readjusting his position so he could curl up with his head on Steve’s chest. 

“Can’t have that. You get any more irritating, I’ll end up just as crazy as everyone thinks I am.” Steve made a half attempt at laughter, but Bucky’s weight and warmth on top of him was too soothing, the steady rhythm of breathing putting him to sleep. Bucky himself stayed awake out of habit, waiting until Steve’s breath and heartbeat went slow and even before snuggling closer against the skin-warm cotton of Steve’s t-shirt and drifting off as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is much appreciated! If you have any thoughts you would like to share (any at all, seriously) just post a comment- I'd love to hear from you. Or, you can come join me on tumblr as fire-lord-mai!


End file.
